A Day in the Life
by Orison
Summary: My take on Bosco's first day at the 79, the precinct Swersky assigned him to in the finale.


**A Day in the Life (1/1)**

* * *

Disclaimer: It's been a while, but nothing has changed. I still don't own anything. If I did, TW would never end.

Rating: K+

Summary: My take on Bosco's first day at the 7-9, the precinct Swersky assigned him to in the finale. I wanted to explore his thoughts and feelings as he started this new adventure, so here it is! Hope I haven't lost my style... lol

* * *

"Sanders!" The man called out from across the street. "Sanders, wait up!"

He was a young, military-issue white guy sporting a blond buzz cut and a tattoo on his right arm. Looking around to make sure there were no cars coming he crossed the street, quickly jogging to catch up with a short, middle-aged man who was slowly making his way towards the entrance of a building.

"What, you're ignoring me now?"

Sanders, or at least he assumed that was his name, grumbled and kept walking, swinging the dry-cleaning bag he was carrying from one shoulder to another. "Wish it was that easy."

"Ouch! That hurts," The young man put a hand to his heart in a dramatic gesture, immediately earning a glare and a roll of the eyes.

"Give me a break, will ya?" Sanders said with an exasperated sigh, finally stopping to meet up with him. "I put up with your crap for eight hours a day, I think I deserve at least that!"

They held each other's gaze for a moment, then simultaneously grinned and started to laugh. The older man patted his partner's back and they walked the rest of the way together before disappearing inside.

Maurice Boscorelli smiled to himself as he watched the scene.

Some things never change. Doesn't matter if you're in New York City, in Utah or in some remote little town in Europe.

The brotherhood gets in your blood and stays with you until the day you die.

You can brag about how much you dislike another cop then jump in front of a bullet to save his life half an hour later. It's one of the unspoken rules you agree to when you become part of the family.

Memories of similar scenes came flooding back like a rush of tidal waves.

_'You working today Boscorelli, or you gonna give us another performance of your "Holiday in Uniform" routine?'  
'No powdered sugar on your shirt, Sully. What, Krispy Kreme burn down?' _

'You know, normally I ride up front.'  
'Hey, how about you ride in silence?'

'What are we doing here?'  
'Preventing crime'  
'Under the bridge?'  
'Crime's everywhere, haven't you heard?'

Witnessing the demise of the 5-5 at the hands of Marcel Hollis and his friends had been like watching his own home fall apart. Even worse, considering how the place and the people he'd met there had become like a second family to him. So much that the rage he'd felt that night, the will to find the men responsible for it and make them pay still haunted him.

Lives had been destroyed because of that single, cowardly act of revenge. Others forever changed.

Partnerships had been broken, friends separated. Careers ended.

Camelot was dead, its remaining knights scattered all around town.

He sighed, remembering the last time they'd all gathered around their Lieutenant while construction workers dismantled the few things that had not been damaged by the fire.

He would miss every one of them.

Sullivan, with his 'solving problems' attitude and his 25 years of experience; Davis, companion of many of his drinking nights, who'd finally shaken his father's ghost off his shoulders; Monroe and her 10-year plan to slide into the Mayor's office.

_Faith..._

He'd left a piece of his heart at the corner of Arthur and King, a piece that had been destroyed along with the building and that he would never get back, but he'd also welcomed the change like a draught of fresh air.

Ever since returning back to work he'd felt like the rest of the world had moved on without him and he didn't belong there anymore. A couple of months and a few bullets is certainly not enough to question someone's abilities, and yet he'd had to prove that he was still as good as he used to be, struggling to fit in among the new officers assigned to the Third Watch and initially unable to even laugh at his old friends' jokes.

People would treat him like a hero, or like he was made of glass and was about to shatter at any moment. He was neither. Only a man who'd gone through a life-changing experience and just wished to forget all about it.

Gradually, shift after shift, the uneasiness had slipped away. Everyone seemed to accept him back and relate to him like they'd always done, except for the only person he'd hoped would understand what he was going through.

Faith had gotten under his skin like no one else had done before, seeing all the good he couldn't acknowledge, the fear he tried to hide, the loneliness he pretended didn't exist. Her betrayal still burned, along with the realization that things would never be the same between them.

He'd lost sleep over it, drank too many whiskeys because of it, until the fighter in him had once again raised his head and reminded him that this could be the chance to finally stand on his own.

If his twelve-year partner had suddenly decided not to trust him anymore, accusing him of cheating at the range, the only thing he could do was stop dwelling on it and move forward. The fire at the Station House had come at the right time, marking the end of an era and hopefully, the beginning of another.

He could still feel the tingle of excitement that had coursed through him when Swersky had announced he'd been transferred to Bed-Stuy.

_Do or die in Bed-Stuy._

He glanced at the two-story building in front of him, his gaze indulging on the letters and numbers on the sign above the entrance.

79th Precinct.

Swersky must've had something to do with the assignment, because he couldn't think of a better place to start his life all over again. Of course his mother would think it differently, and she'd already given him a piece of her mind as soon as she'd heard the news, but she also understood that he wouldn't be happy to sit behind a desk all day.

In the discussion that had followed, she'd told him that he would rather be a beat cop for the rest of his life than accept a promotion or take the Sergeant's test. She was right. Maurice Boscorelli was a man of action and the 'war-zone', as the 79th was commonly referred to, would provide him just the right amount of excitement and adrenaline-packed chases.

_The rougher the better._

Grabbing his duffel bag from the passenger's seat, he got out of the car and walked inside.

Like any police station at 3pm, the place bustled with activity: the desk Sergeant was juggling two phones while another rang off the hook and civilians impatiently waited their turn, uniforms were either getting ready for their shift or handing in their 61s before leaving. In the background, the police scanner squawked about domestic disturbances and gang shootings.

Bosco looked around, taking in his surroundings. He had the peculiar feeling that he was moving in slow motion while the rest of the world rushed past him in double time.

Everything was different.

The front desk was twice as big as the one at the 55th, the stairs to the first floor on the opposite side of it. The Lieutenant's office, a room he hoped not to get too familiar with, was right beside.

_'It's gonna be weird going to another building, huh?'  
'I'm sure it'll seem like old home soon enough.'  
'You really think that's true? It's gonna feel just like it always did?'  
'No, but what else am I gonna say, right?'_

He didn't believe it would ever feel like home, just comfortable enough to focus on his job and enjoy it like he used to do.

Heart thumping loudly in anticipation, he approached the front desk and leaned on the counter, letting out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. The Sergeant was no longer talking on the phone, but he appeared busy nonetheless.

"Hi, I'm Officer Boscorelli from the 5-5. I was told to report here at 3pm."

The man looked up from the paperwork he was filing, eyeing him with the same kind of suspicion one usually has towards rookies.

"Lieutenant's over there," he said, pointing to the office near the stairs Bosco had already noticed. "Make sure you see him before roll call. Locker room's around the corner on the left."

"Thanks."

Sensing this was all the information he would get, Bosco nodded and decided to go see the Lieutenant. Turning around, he accidentally bumped into a uniform, scattering all the files the man was carrying on the ground at their feet.

"Damn it, watch out, man!"

"Shit! I'm sorry," Bosco apologized, dropping his duffel bag and kneeling down to help him with the files.

As he rose to his feet a moment later, the task completed, his gaze fixed on the name under the officer's badge.

Cruz.

In the tiniest sliver of a second, a frenzy of feelings and images flashed through his brain.

_'Sergeant, I'd like to work up here for a little while.' _

'I thought I knew what I was doing out here, but I guess I don't.'

'This was your brother!'  
'What?'  
'Your brother killed Dade.'

'There's no one I'd rather have backing me up, Bosco.'

Despite her tendency to bend the law at her own pleasure and their many disagreements, the idea of Maritza Cruz buried six feet under into a grave in Brooklyn seemed almost impossible to accept.

Another memory stirred, and suddenly the smell of burned flesh and metal was so strong he thought he was going to throw up. He saw himself leap from the sedan and run headlong toward the fire, cell phone in hand.

_'This is Boscorelli from the 5-5. We have a 10-13 at a hundred and eight and West End! We have an officer injured inside!'_

Her actions that day had saved dozens of lives, dozens of cops who come home to their families every night because she chose to sacrifice her life for them. For him.

Bosco had always known she would go out in a blaze of glory.

She was a lot like him. Didn't care about medals and honors, just wanted to make the streets safe and prevent innocent people from dying. The timing of her death though, mixed with the weird sense of foreshadowing he'd experienced in the car a few minutes before the explosion, had raised lots of questions; questions he'd thought would remain unanswered until officer Santiago, her partner in Anti-Crime, had risen from his chair at her funeral and shocked everybody with the news of her illness.

Learning about her battle against Leukemia had put things into a whole new perspective. Had he known about it he wouldn't have let her out of the car, or at least said something, instead of simply staring dumbfounded at her for the whole time.

"You okay, man?"

The officer's voice jerked him back to the present. He looked at the files he still held in his hands and promptly handed them back to him.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's alright."

"Boscorelli!"

Another voice interrupted them. Bosco straightened up at the authoritative tone, while Officer Cruz muttered a quick 'Sir' and disappeared around the corner.

The Lieutenant made his way across the room in purposeful strides, hands on his hips, brow arched.

"You've been here for like what, five minutes, and you're already causing trouble?"

He was a tall, lean man with grayish hair and piercing blue eyes. Reminded him of Lt. Stick, who'd worked at the 5-5 before Swersky. Bosco wondered if there were classes on how to embarass your subordinates at the Academy.

"Sir, I..." he replied uncomfortably, shifting his eyes off him.

"Bob Swersky told me all about you," he added, then held out his hand, allowing a grin to spread across his face. "Lieutenant Hart. Welcome to the 7-9."

Bosco smiled and shook the man's hand, the tension of the last few moments immediately easing away.

"Thank you, Sir."

"I'll be in roll call. Meet me there as soon as you're ready."

"I'll be right there."

The smile still playing at his lips, he picked his duffel bag off the floor and made his way to the locker room.

A group of five officers came out of it just as he was about to get in. Bosco stepped aside, nodding in acknowledgment at his new co-workers and trying to memorize their faces. Some of them nodded back, others glanced curiously at him as they walked by.

Inside, another rush of memories assaulted him.

_'I thought you checked the stalls.'  
'I didn't know you were gonna confess to armed robbery.' _

'I believe you've lost your torch, Miss Liberty.'

'Yokas and I are joining the law enforcement elite.'  
'You're becoming Ninjas?'

He took a couple of steps forward, his eyes slowly roaming across the room.

Emotions whirled inside him, shifting and changing as the seconds ticked by: thoughts and doubts, hopes and fears, pleasant and ugly memories, all tangled like worms.

Each of his friends had ended up where he or she belonged: Davis and Finney in Anti-Crime, Faith to Major Cases, Monroe working on days at the 9th precinct. Even Sullivan in his little cabin by the lake had finally found his peace of mind.

They'd promised to stay in touch with each other, but he knew all too well that even the best of friends inevitably drift apart when you go from spending eight hours a day with someone to short, occasional visits.

Moving further into the room, he recognized the two cops he'd seen outside the building. They were standing in front of their lockers, laughing about something he couldn't hear while they finished getting ready for the shift.

"Hey," Bosco started in a casual tone, loud enough to get their attention. "You guys know if there's a spare locker I can use?"

The laughters immediately subsided, followed by a moment of silence as both officers stared him down.

"Third one on the left is empty," the older of the two eventually said.

"Thanks."

"First day?" the other inquired.

"Yeah. I've been transferred here from the 5-5."

"Isn't that the one that was burned down like a month ago?"

Bosco nodded. "Jagoffs knew what they were doing when they attacked us."

"What a waste. There was a time when these little bastards were actually afraid of us."

"Nick Logan," the younger cop said, covering his partner's musings. He shook Bosco's hand then pointed at his friend who was now sitting on the bench tying his shoes. "This is my partner, Mark Sanders."

"Maurice Boscorelli."

Nick's eyes widened. "Wait a minute... I thought you looked familiar! I heard about you, man. You're a hero!"

"What are you talking about?" Sanders asked as he rose to his feet.

"Yeah! Remember the ambush at Angel of Mercy? Couple of months ago? He's the officer who got shot." He took hold of Bosco's hand again, shaking it a second time as his gaze fixed on the scar marking his face. "You saved your partner's life..."

Bosco's blue eyes hooded over. "I was just doing my job."

Mark Sanders elbowed his partner lightly in the ribs, sending him a warning message. He did remember the shooting. They'd talked about it for days. Looking at the officer in front of him though, he had a hard time picturing him as the person he'd heard about. Except for the band aid on his cheek, this man looked ready to take on the world, but talking about his experience obviously still made him uncomfortable so he quickly changed the subject.

"I used to know a guy who worked at the 55th. John Sullivan."

"Sully?" Bosco grinned. "We've worked together for 13 years. He decided to pull the pin after the fire."

"He did?" the other man laughed. "I thought I'd never see that happen."

"I guess it was time."

"We're running late, man. Ready to go?" Nick interrupted them.

Sanders scanned his wristwatch. "Alright, we'll... see you in roll call," he said as he started to follow Logan out the door. He took a couple of steps forward then turned to look at Bosco, making sure the two of them were alone in the room. "Sorry about my partner. He's never had any manners."

Bosco waved his hand. "Don't worry about it."  
Mark nodded as their eyes met for a brief moment, the hint of a smile on his lips. "I gotta go."

"See you in a few," Bosco's voice echoed in the now empty room.

He smiled to himself. If this was any indication of how this new adventure would be like, he had nothing to fear.

* * *

"... Also, it's with great pleasure that I welcome here today Officer Maurice Boscorelli from the 55th precinct." Lt. Hart said after briefing his officers on the day's assignments. He pointed at Bosco, who'd taken a seat in the first row of chairs. "He will be joining our watch so please show him some of the kindness the 7-9 is famous for."

A burst of laughter erupted in the room.

"Alright, alright, that was a joke," he raised his hand to settle things down. "Just be sure to treat him as one of your own. This man is no rookie. His bravery and dedication to the job should be an example for all of us."

Nick Logan, who was sitting right behind him, patted his shoulder in an appreciative gesture. Bosco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The kid had probably seen too many cop shows. He glanced around, nodding at the other cops that were still studying him with a mixture of curiosity and respect .

He hated to be called a hero. He was hardly a decent man.

Heroes do not get their partners shot. They do not freeze when they're holding a gun, or have panic attacks.

"White," the Lieutenant continued. " You'll be riding with him in 7-9 Edward."

All heads turned toward the back of the room. Scott White, 30ish, with broad-shoulders and ruggedly handsome features was leaning against the door frame, smoothing down his uniform shirt as he glanced at his superior.

"Yes, Sir."

"And next time you show up late for roll call I'm writing you up."

He lowered his gaze. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry."

"Okay, that's a wrap. Be careful out there."

As the officers ordinately left the room, Lt. Hart stepped off the podium and went over to Bosco.

"White's a good cop," he said, trying to convince himself that pairing the two of them together wouldn't turn his hair completely gray ahead of time. "He just needs to start following the rules around here."

Bosco smirked, thinking about all the times he'd been reprimanded for the same reason. "I'll see what I can do about it."

The Lieutenant folded his arms across his chest. "I hear you have quite an attitude yourself," he teased.

"That was the past, boss. You got nothing to worry about."

"We'll see about that. Now get out of here, you've got a job to do."

"Got it."

He watched the two cops shake hands and start to laugh as if they'd been partners for years. "I know I'm going to regret this..." he whispered as he left the room.

THE END


End file.
